


Overheard

by Brinady



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22716874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinady/pseuds/Brinady
Summary: In which Geralt has a talk with Roach about a certain bard.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	Overheard

**Author's Note:**

> Envision this taking place shortly after one of the first times Geralt escaped the company of Jaskier.

“The bard was a problem, Roach.” The witcher told his horse as he began making camp for the night. He had found an old fire-pit in the woods a ways off the road when he was looking for a place to sleep. The good fortune would save him some time clearing and digging a safe space for the night’s fire. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

The horse was, in fact, _not_ looking at him. But she flicked her ears companionably at the sound of his voice. The witcher spoke seldom, and mostly to her. She was a good audience.

“The man was insufferable, you have to admit.” He removed the saddlebags and bedroll and set them down near the fire-pit, along with his sword-belt. This section of forest was as safe as could be hoped, though he wouldn’t be fool enough to stray far from his weapons. 

“Loud…” He unbuckled her breast-collar. “Like a dinner bell to every monster for miles.” He looped it’s strap over the saddle and began unbuckling the girth. 

“Helpless as a week-old pup.” He removed the saddle and heaved it over a nearby branch to dry. 

Roach gave a full-body shake, sweat-dampened hair touching the cool evening air for the first time all day. It felt wonderful. 

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t wield a sword, or he’d have already been impaled on it.” He pulled out a hard brush and began brushing Roach down from withers to flanks, helping to dry and clear the sweat and dirt, checking for saddle sores. 

“He’s oblivious to danger and that ‘silver-tongue’ of his is useless at getting him back out of it.” He worked the brush over her neck and shoulders, digging deep. Roach leaned in appreciatively. 

“Singularly useless, all in all.” He walked around to her other side and repeated the thorough brushing.

“If he had stayed with us it would only be a matter of time until he got one of us killed.” 

Roach turned her head questioningly to him, though not in response to his statement. He had paused mid-brushing and she wanted to know why.

“I know.” he said, intentionally misreading her body language, “That would be a waste. Wouldn’t it?” He resumed brushing and shook his head.

“There was one thing though…” he took the brush in long strokes down the side of her crest. It wasn’t necessary, but she enjoyed it.

“The fool boy wasn’t afraid of me.” He paused with the brushing once again. A thoughtful frown, perhaps tinged with regret, on his face. 

Roach nudged him in the chest, asking him to continue.

“I know,” Instead he knuckled her forehead fondly, and took a moment to finger-comb her forelock. Then he set to work on her mane. 

“You see-- humans fear me. They can’t help it. Like you’d fear a mountain-lion in the woods. It’s in your blood. Each responds differently, but fear is fear. I can smell it on them just as you can. The only ones who don’t fear me are those with a power of their own. Mages, mutants, kings…” He worked his hands through the thick mane, pulling out the occasional twig or burr. 

“But an ordinary, foolish man...knowing exactly what I am but following me around without a trace of fear…” He paused again, but this time Roach looked back at him.

“That’s…” he shook his head, not really sure how to express the odd feeling, “...that’s something, Roach.” She tossed her head.

“Still, it’s for the best-- leaving him behind.” He nodded, more to himself than to Roach, then chuckled, “He really was f#&@ing annoying.”

A squeek of “Oi!” emerged from the other side of the nearby hill.

Geralt and Roach both froze, looking in the same direction.

“F#&@.”


End file.
